Step by Step
by crematosis
Summary: Dean's Fitbit reveals more about his exercise habits than he intended.


Castiel woke up from his nap feeling groggy and disoriented. He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Sleep was still one of the most baffling aspects of human existence. Why did he feel more tired after sleeping?

Perhaps Dean would know what he had done wrong. Almost everything Castiel knew about being human, he had learned from Dean.

He reached for his phone on his bedside table and squinted at the screen. The bunker was fairly large and he and Dean had taken to texting each other their whereabouts, which deeply disappointed Sam.

Somehow, he opened the Fitbit app instead of text messaging. He smiled faintly at Dean's data displayed on the screen. Sam had gotten Dean a Fitbit for Christmas. Dean had complained bitterly about healthy nonsense and he had promised to wear it with great reluctance. Currently, Dean was up to 6520 steps so perhaps he secretly didn't hate exercise as much as he claimed.

Dean had to be exercising right now because his number of steps was quickly increasing. Maybe a little too quickly. Castiel stared in alarm as Dean's number shot past eight thousand steps and continued rising.

Something was seriously wrong. Dean didn't run at these speeds unless he was being chased. And there was no way he could run that fast for that long. Whatever was chasing him had to have caught up with him by now and carried him off.

He rushed down the hall and banged on Sam's door frantically. "Sam! Sam, come quickly. Dean's been kidnapped."

Sam poked his head out the door. "That's impossible. The bunker-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Castiel said impatiently. He grabbed Sam's hand and yanked him out of his room. "But nevertheless, Dean's been taken. We must find him quickly before they get too far."

"Who?" Sam demanded. "Who has him? How did they get him?"

"I don't know," Castiel said. "But they've likely reached town by now if that's the direction they're headed." Luckily, whoever it was seemed to have slowed to almost a stop now. Perhaps they were already at their destination. Castiel just needed to find out where that was.

Sam wasn't reacting with any urgency, just following along with a confused expression on his face, but Castiel couldn't bring himself to yell at him. He would need Sam's help eventually.

Castiel rushed from room to room, gathering up all the supplies he though he would need and shoving them into Sam's arms. He made it all the way to the kitchen before Dean's familiar whistling stopped him short.

"Dean?"

"Oh hey, Cas," Dean said. He kicked the fridge closed with a foot. "You hungry?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "You're not the real Dean. Our Dean is a mile away by now. We must test him, Sam. Reveal him for what he really is."

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Sam.

"Just humor him," Sam said.

With a sigh, Dean held out his wrists and let Castiel and Sam perform the battery of tests.

"I don't understand," Castiel said as all the tests came back negative. "This is impossible."

"Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Dean demanded. "You two are acting crazy."

"Cas just woke up from his nap," Sam said gently. "He must have had some nightmare about you being kidnapped."

"It wasn't a dream." Cas thrust his phone in front of Sam's face. "According to the data, Dean traveled over a mile in two minutes, which is an impossible speed for him."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Really, Dean?"

"What? I didn't do anything."

Sam sighed heavily. "Where's your Fitbit, Dean?"

Dean held up his right arm. "Would you give it a rest? I promised you I'd wear the damn thing and I am. So stop badgering me about it."

"Give your arm a shake like you've got a cramp or something."

Dean frowned, but did as Sam asked.

Sam pointed to the phone. "See how the app is showing Dean just took 13 steps? Since Fitbits are worn on the wrist, what they really do is track arm movement and approximate how many steps you take based on how much you've moved your arms. So sometimes it counts steps when you've been…engaging in other activities."

"Oh, I see," Castiel said. "Dean was masturbating."

Dean's face went bright red. "What? No, that's not-"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"Okay, fine. I was jacking off." Dean groaned and put his head in his hands. "This is fucking embarrassing."

"I am very thankful you have not been kidnapped," Castiel said. "But I am still very displeased about today's events."

"I'm sorry, Cas. Didn't mean to make you worry. I'll make sure to take the damn thing off next time."

"There's not going to be a next time," Castiel growled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You shouldn't have to resort to self-pleasure when I'm here."

"But you were asleep."

"So?"

Dean huffed. "You'd really want me to wake you up and ask for sex?"

"Of course I would. I very much enjoy our sexual encounters and even if I am too tired for much activity, I am very fond of the taste of your semen."

"And that's my cue to leave," Sam said. He hurried out of the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, "I think I would have rather you actually been kidnapped."

"Bitch," Dean shouted after him.

Castiel put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I have an idea for what we do with your Fitbit now."

"Throw it in the garbage?" Dean asked hopefully.

Castiel shook his head. "Currently, you are at 8734 steps. I think we need to bring that up to an even ten thousand."

Dean grinned. "You got it, babe."


End file.
